On Christmas Day, 2017, I was on a flight home to Sydney. I sat in the window seat on the connecting flight from Dubai for 15 hours. A young couple sat beside me, lounging in their seats and sleeping with their legs stretched out. Luckily, I didn’t need the toilet.
About 30 minutes before the flight landed, I wanted to head to the toilet, but the couple slept, oblivious. I thought it was not long before landing. I can wait.
That decision turned me away from death’s door, doctors said. If I had gone, I would have died with no specialist doctor or hospital there.
The plane landed. I got up to collect my bag in the overhead compartment. In that second of getting up, I found it hard to breathe. I started wheezing with shortness of breath, and with slow movements, I walked with other passengers down the aisle to the exit.
All the walk I breathed hard, felt dizzy and nauseous. I remember stopping when I reached the air stewardess and thinking, I’ll just stand still for a moment.
Next thing, I’m on the floor, a breathing mask over my face, and someone’s saying repeatedly, “Can you hear me?” Seconds later, I managed to talk and was told paramedics were on the way. Unconscious again, I remember hearing sirens.
Then I woke in the ICU six hours later. The doctor told me a blood clot had formed in my leg, and on getting up, had broken and travelled to my lungs. Worst case they’d seen, a sub-massive bilateral pulmonary embolism with both lungs almost completely filled with blood clots.
To save me, their only choice was via thrombolysis, a procedure with a risk of bleeding to death, but the doctors had to try. I’m so thankful they did.
I am checked by the doctor every six months and am on apixaban for life, as they found I have antithrombin III deficiency. I don’t mind the tablets. They help me wake up each day.
And I am grateful for every day of life now. Each day is a bonus for me, and not everyone gets bonus days.
